You Think I Don't Know
by lumoscrimsom
Summary: Brief descriptions of some things Sirius thinks Remus doesn't know, thrown in with how he realised his feelings for the other boy. Should he be so sure that Remus doesn't know?


**Disclaimer:** Belongs to JK Rowling, the lucky thing. Scratch that..._talented_ thing. Yes, yes, much better.

Sirius knew that there were some things he knew that Remus did not.

Sirus knew that the Wronski Feint required a great amount of skill and instinct and was not a move drawn from logic and quick maths like Moony thought it was. Silly Moony was firm in his belief that all things could be done with reason. The boy had never met Sirius' parents, though, so he understood why he would think so. Obviously, Remus wasn't exactly the biggest Quidditch fan, either, so that contributed to his sort of endearing ignorance.

Sirius knew that the Giant Squid was actually named Elaine. He knew, because he had spent a rainy afternoon sat out by the lake. It was when he had been disowned by his hateful family the previous year and he hadn't even confided in James. Aware of his violent temper when he felt cornered or abandoned, Sirius had fled out into the dreary weather where no one would come looking for him, not wanting to lash out at any of his friends until he had had a chance to wrap his head around the letter sent by his mother and who should have broken the surface of the lake to join him in hi moment of misery? Why, none other than Elaine, of course. And how, I hear you ask, did he find out her name? Simple as, she told him.

Sirius knew that the missing underwear that Peter sometimes brought up in conversation ever since the end of first year were, in fact, tied to the top of the owlery. No one went on the roof of the owlery, so no one but Sirius and James knew they were there (which, he guessed, meant this point should actually belong on a list of things that Sirius _and_ James knew that Remus didn't, but James had no place in this particular train of thought), but knowing was still worth it when Wormy wondered aloud on the mysterious location of his favourite Babbity Rabbity pants.

Sirius knew that the quill Remus used – gifted to him by the one, the only, Sirius Orion Black – was actually made from one of the feathers from McGonagall's most prized hat. Any day now, she was going to notice that the green waving around at the back of her seventh year class was, in fact, stolen from her by her favourite prefect. Well, Sirius wasn't stupid, he knew Minnie would never believe that Moony had taken it and would look straight to the two more troublesome Marauders. Not that Sirius would have let her think it was Moony anyway – if she would ever believe for one second that it was the gentle-natured boy, he would step up himself and take the blame. Which would be fitting, since it _was_ him.

Sirius enjoyed knowing things that Remus didn't. The boy was well read, naturally intelligent and a hard worker, no matter how much he put himself down when he was feeling less than confident, especially after the full moon. He liked to tease Remus, wave a piece of information in front of his face until he pleaded to know what it was. Of course, more times than not, the brown eyed boy was able to use his powers of persuasion to get what he wanted out of Sirius. Never had he been able to resist Remus for more than ten minutes at a time. Once those ten minutes were up, he'd need to escape the boy's pleading eyes and subtle hints at flirtation (which drove Sirius mad, knowing it wasn't real and was for the benefit of having a laugh), and eat some chocolate before assailing him again with his singing: "I know something you don't knooooowwww!" Only thing was, the chocolate would have been stolen by a doe eyed Moony, so that plan was never exactly fruitful, and said information was successfully stolen by an emotionally exhausted Sirius.

Sirius was glad that he knew some things that Remus didn't. Especially things _about_ Remus that no one else knew. There were some things other didn't need to know. The biggest secret that Sirius kept – that no one else knew, not even Prongs – was concerning the first time Sirius had seen Remus after a transformation. It was Christmas Eve of their third year at Hogwarts and Remus had opted to stay at school to 'make it easier for his family'. The statement had seemed to have slipped from the boy's mouth accidentally, for he had clammed up and ran for the protection of the library before any of his startled friends could question him. Sirius, the most concerned of them for their frequently-ill friend, had stayed over, too, as James and Peter had left to spend the festive season with their loved ones. In Sirius' point of view, his family weren't his loved ones, his friends were and Remus could certainly be counted as loved one. How ironic that on Christmas Eve morning, that statement became truer than he had ever thought it would.

Sirius had spent a good part of his nights that holiday reading, searching, desperate to understand what terrible thing made Moony's eyes look like that of an old man who had seen too much, what made the grey streaks appear in his soft brown hair at the tender age of twelve, what made the frail boy cry at night when he thought no one could hear him. Sirius never went to comfort him, never went to ask what was so wrong that he wept behind the hangings of his bed with a regularity that scared him. That was why, he supposed. He was scared. He had only been eleven when it had started and he hadn't understood, just assumed it was homesickness. He had frowned behind his own hangings and wondered, with the mind of a child neglected by love and kindness, who could miss their parents so much. Then, in third year, he had found he hadn't the courage to ask, so he put his mind to understanding before he tried.

Sirius had worked it out the night before Christmas Eve. With a book on werewolves sat open and forgotten in his lap, Sirius had slumped back against the headboard of his bed. Remus had left a few hours ago to go 'visit his mum' and the moon had risen, which had meant…which had meant he had already transformed. He had tried to be disgusted, betrayed, outraged. With all his might, he had tried, the lessons and sneered comments by his family circling his mind like vultures ready to snap up the faintest trace of revulsion and feed until it was a fully grown hatred…but he couldn't…

Sirius had _hurt_. It wasn't that Remus hadn't told them, hadn't told him. Only a small part of the hurt was betrayal and meagre at that; he understood the secrecy. How could a nervous half-blood boy, who had been so joyful to have found friends that Sirius had found it hilarious, tell his three pureblood mates that he was a _half breed werewolf_? How was he to know that Sirius wouldn't turn full Black on him and get him expelled? The thought of such an idea going through Remus' mind had made Sirius' eyes squeeze tightly closed before the tears could fall. With fumbling fingers, he had flicked through the book on his lap with a feverish need to know, to understand, to _help_.

Sirius had been a mess by the time he had learnt all he could. How could his friend, his frail, sickly friend, go through such a terrible thing every month? How long had he been dealing with it? How had he been able to cope with it alone for nearly two and a half years? Had he been able to cope? No. The answer to that was no. The boy had cried in the dark enough times for Sirius to know – and never, not once, had he solaced his friend. Sirius had suddenly felt sick, sick with himself as he sat hunched in a corner of his four poster bed, staring out at the full moon hanging in the sky like some kind of nauseating symbol of his ignorance. He remembered vividly the moment he had almost ran out of the dorm and down to the grounds to tell Remus that he knew, that he understood – that he didn't care. But he couldn't. Remus would have still been transformed somewhere, so he had settled down for a fitful nap before dawn came. One word floated through his hectic mind before he had eventually fallen asleep: _werewolf_.

_Remus_, had been the first word Sirius had thought when his eyes had snapped open. With only a fleeting glance at the clock on his nightstand to tell him that dawn was another hour away, he had grabbed for the Map to find Remus. Nowhere showed Remus Lupin's name and Sirius had begun to panic before the answer had come to him as though it was obvious. And it was, _so obvious_. He had reached the Shrieking Shack within the next forty minutes, sweating and panting from the long run into Hogsmead through the tunnel into Honeyduke's and through the snow until he had reached his goal, having had no idea about the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow back then.

Remus had been lying in the middle of the floor in one of the destroyed rooms in the Shack. It had taken Sirius a few minutes to find him, time seeming to pass far too fast as he searched through the torn and vandalised rooms, as though Remus would be lying dead and unresponsive when he reached him. He knew it was ridiculous, he had seen him alive and…not well, but _alive_ every morning after going to 'visit his mum'. When he had eventually come across the by, time slowed to an unbearable pace as he stood in the doorway and saw him. Covered in his own blood and claw marks carved into the floorboards and walls around him, was Remus. His limbs were at odd angles from his body, as though he had fallen and hadn't bothered to move to a more comfortable position, and his eyes closed, almost peacefully. Almost. He wasn't moving. Sirius had stood, immobile, staring in horror and an indescribable dread at the motionless boy – until his chest rose and fell with a deep breath – and time started up again.

Remus had been gathered up in his arms as fast and as gently as possible, head laid against Sirius' chest, naked skin stroked by clammy hands in a futile attempt to warm the smaller boy. Still unconscious, Remus had turned into Sirius' warmth and made a small whimpering sound. That was the moment, as he had brushed the hair from a cut across Remus' cheek, that Sirius had realised that he cared for the other boy more than was considered normal, even in such a situation as the one he had found himself in. Careful not to knock any bruises or wounds, Sirius had held Remus and had cried, silently and desperately for the pain he could do nothing about.

Remus wasn't frail. Sirius had been wrong. He was brave. So _brave_, that it had hurt Sirius to his core to know what agony waited in store for the boy every month, to know the pain he endured whilst waiting for the full moon to come, to know what he endured every minute of every day as he waited for the wrong person to find out and make his life even more of a living hell than it already was. As though the possession of his body wasn't bad enough, he had to face the stigma of a man infected by the prejudiced masses and Sirius was determined to _never _become that.

Remus was never alone after that morning. Sirius had stayed until Remus had woken and there had been a tearful – panicky on Remus' part – confrontation, before a relieved, companionable silence that had lasted until Sirius had had to hide when Madam Pomfrey had arrived. James and Peter had been told in the new year with Remus' reluctant permission that had evolved into humbled delight when the other two boys, shocked at first, had accepted his infliction and clapped him on the back with eager questions about presents and propositions of planned pranks. Sirius had felt an unmistakeable warm feeling flood through his chest at the wide smile and bright eyes Remus had bestowed upon him when their other two friends had failed to run away screaming. Every night after that, when Sirius heard Remus' muffled sobs and quiet snuffles, he would shuffle over and climb into the other boy's bed and listen to his fears, his hopes, his wounds, and would run the soft brown hair between his fingers until he had fallen asleep and the sniffs had mellowed into sighs. Sirius didn't do it because he pitied Remus, but because he understood. Understood the other boy's furry little problem and understood his own problem concerning the other boy in question.

Remus stopped crying during the nights sometime during his fourth year. When Sirus had asked him why, he had simply given this beatific smile that had sent a shiver down his spine and told him that with such dear friends that understood, he could cope with anything. The words had almost made Sirius well up – which would have been deathly embarrassing – and the hug that had followed had done…other things to him.

Sirius knew that there were some things he knew that Remus did not.

Sirius knew that the real reason behind the three Marauder's first animagus transformations in fifth were because he had confessed in a mad explosion in the dorm about his obsession over the book loving werewolf to James and Peter, and had demanded that they all did whatever they could to make Moony's transformations more bearable. Remus had always assumed that it was because they were just such good friends. Which it was, there was just more than he could have ever imagined.

Sirus knew that he had sent Snape into the Shack that near-fateful night a year later was because he had realised the depth of his feelings for his Moony. The revelation had scared him and the wrong person had crossed his path at the wrong time with the _exact_ wrong things to say. Remus didn't know why he had done it. He hadn't asked, only approached him with shining eyes and a warm embrace after a week of seclusion.

Sirius knew that he was in loved with Remus and that Remus didn't suspect a thing. Sirius looked over at the tawny haired boy where he was sitting with his knees drawn up slightly, feet propped up on the table before the fire and his potions essay on his lap atop a sturdy book acting as a desk, tapping a slender fingertip against his chin as he thought. He could never tell his friend how he felt – James had been nagging him for almost three years now and the nagging had only intensified when Evans had given in and said yes, harping on about how 'everyone can find love'. Sirius wasn't at all sure whether or not Remus would freak out on him and start avoiding him. He would do it in what he would think was a discrete manner, of course, so he wouldn't hurt Sirius' feelings. Which would only make it hurt all the more, but Moony would never guess that. Then Remus would start to worry about their friendship and lose sleep and stop studying and fail his N.E.W.T.s and hate Sirius forever for ruining his life because of a stupid crush that started all the way back in third year. But then Remus looked up, mid tap, and gave Sirius that slow, gentle smile that he had noticed he offered no one else with that little bit of something else sparling in those bright eyes. Maybe there was hope, after all. Maybe it was okay to love Remus Lupin.

Remus knew things he knew Sirius thought he didn't know.

Remus knew the black haired boy believed there to be no intelligence involved in the dangerous seeker diversion, but hadn't corrected him in order to avoid a longwinded lecture on Quidditch.

Remus knew that the Giant Squid's name was, in fact, Elaine, and had been told as much by the cephalopod herself.

Remus knew that Peter's favourite Babbity Rabbity underwear was currently acting as a flag atop the owlery, but hadn't told the unlucky boy as he had a habit of stealing his chocolate and this was the perfect revenge.

Remus knew that Sirius had orchestrated the animagus plan and why exactly it had occurred, information courtesy of James Potter, and hadn't told Sirius that he knew so he could gather his own thoughts and prepare.

Remus knew why Padfoot had sent Severus to the Willow last year, but hadn't confronted him about it because he hated confrontation and couldn't lose Sirius. Remus looked up from his potions essay and smiled when he realised that the other boy was watching him, and wondered if he could tell what he was thinking. _I love you, Sirius Black_.

Sirius knew that there were some things he knew that Remus did not and Remus knew things he knew Sirius thought he didn't know.


End file.
